Amnesia: The Buried Birdcage
by Vickie1
Summary: "Is everything ready for tonight?" "Yes. The goose is ready any minute now, the guests should be arriving within the hour." That's good. I wonder...if she's still the same petite loir I remember so much. How nice to see her again... Sequel to Amnesia: Justine.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

* * *

_Summary: "Is everything ready for tonight?" "Yes. The goose is ready any minute now, the guests should be arriving within the hour." That's good. I wonder...if she's still the same petite loir I remember so much. How nice to see her again... Sequel to Amnesia: Justine. _

_Disclaimer: I owe nothing of Amnesia games. But I'd GLADLY propose this story idea to Frictional Games. :3_

* * *

Light.

It streamed through the tiniest crack he spied so far up at the ceiling of the huge cavern. The white crystal specks of a late night winter floated down as fine as the dust around him.

Amazing, right underneath the estate and still, the world above managed to seep into this one blackened void. He thought it was impossible since the only way to see the outside was going through the man-made labyrinth towards the surface.

The light he saw, he knew it wasn't the sun. Not yet at least. Probably from a stray lantern or lamppost. But in a few hours, a special day would approach like the awakening of a newly blossomed primrose in dawn's welcoming grace.

He glanced down to a small hairpin in his grubby hand, protected from dirt, oil and filth by a cotton cloth and a sweet purple ribbon. He had handcrafted it, from whatever scraps he could find during his free hours. It was a simple design, nothing like the kinds his mother once wore. He couldn't buy those classy gems with his kind of salary. But he knew she favoured birds so perhaps, she'd appreciate the soaring silver songbird at the top of the hairpin. Polished it day and night until it was perfect in his brown eyes.

She'd like his gift. He hoped so anyway.

She would be mesmerizing with this hairpin in her lovely auburn hair. So mesmerizing that he barely heard the old grumpy voice calling him.

…Wait. Why was it calling his name?

"THOMAS!"

The young Englishman jumped off the stacks of crates, tumbling as he went down with them. He fearfully peered up, seeing the glaring near-sighted dull eyes of his co-worker, Maxwell.

The middle-aged labourer scorned his grey moustache at Thomas, the youngest by far among all the workers, and a juvenile in their eyes. He shook his head at him, immediately guessing that he was day dreaming again.

"Get your arse up. All the checks on this floor are done," Maxwell said

"Y-Yes sir." Thomas leapt up, amassing the crates back up neatly and hurried after his senior, already on his way to the wooden ascending room. "It's really amazing, isn't it? Having this cavern right underneath the east wing? You could fit the Westminster Cathedral in it and it'd probably be not enough."

A snort. "Troublesome if you ask me. Tremors've been getting worse and I swear, once more shake and the nearby floors will likely collapse and sink deeper in. We still have three more floors to go through."

Stones and dirt crumpled downwards, making the two men glance up. A noise had reverberated from above, like thunder in the earth.

"Hm. Sounds like they breached through. About time. Now we can get more people down here for the checks and reinforcements." Maxwell fished out an old pocket watch from his trousers, the chain long gone from his much younger days. He groaned. "Four-thirty in the morning. Brilliant..." A sigh. "Let's call it a night. Get enough sleep before sunrise."

Thomas nodded without question. He took one last look at the fissure around him before they left for the ascending room, Maxwell complaining with another tiring lament. "Wish I was back in London. Damn Frenchies don't know how to make a bloody good cup of grog."

The middle-aged man unlatched open the door of the small wooden two-man box as Thomas unwrapped the rope from a pin. He scurried on board and used every ounce of his youthful energy to hurl them upwards. Slow and steady.

The smell of sulphur flickered into the still air once Maxwell struck a match and lit his pipe. He flung the black-headed piece away, took three deep puffs and leaned his arms on the side, listening to the tugging of the rope and the turning of wheels in the pulley above them.

"I still can't believe the entire basement of the east wing is so big."

There he goes again. Maxwell sighed. Why couldn't the lad's trailing mouth stay quiet for just two minutes?

"There's even a prison. I don't understand why that woman still wants to keep it even."

"Best not question the client's or her forebears' taste in architecture. Their business, not ours," Maxwell grunted. "Of course, I wouldn't cross my mind that there was a prison warden somewhere in the family tree. This place is very old."

"Luckily, the locks still work. I couldn't imagine myself being locked up down there for years," Thomas admitted.

"Most," Maxwell corrected him. "If a blacksmith doesn't come tomorrow, then that surely will happen to someone."

"Still, this is a very big place, from top to bottom. I really wonder what the owner will do with so much space."

"I don't know. Hold parities. Do rich people stuff. Be the Queen of France and send peasants to rot in those cells."

"Now that is a terrible thought."

"Like I said, it's that Frenchie lady's business. Not ours. Don't go snooping around other people's matters. 'Less you want a cut in your pay. I won't have your back, boy."

Maxwell took another puff, tasting and smelling the strong tobacco. His eyes strayed, noticing the little present in Thomas' tool belt.

He shook his head. It doesn't take a genius to know who Junior was planning to give that to. Really, was the lad really ready to have his head on a platter?

"That boon is for the young lady, isn't it?"

Thomas' shoulders twitched anxiously. He glanced back. "W-Well, tomorrow is her birthday. Made this for her. Nothing special."

The middle-aged man sighed. "You're trending into dangerous waters to go after the boss' daughter. Really, do you not have marbles? Look, I admire your stubborn fondness over the prodigy but it's foolish."

Thomas stopped pulling, bringing the ascending room to a halt. Might as well be Maxwell's fault for speaking his mind but it had to be done. The boy was either going to learn on his own and get the boot or hear it from an experienced man.

After all, he too had his fair share of chasing a beaut beyond his reach. Was it simply he didn't want his co-worker to make the same mistake or just be damn stupid?

No, it was the latter one.

"Because I'm in the working class?" the lad asked bitterly. The tone was slight, holding back the tension.

"Boy, we're worlds apart from the aristocrats and middle class. You're only going to make it harder on yourself," Maxwell explained honestly. "Besides, have you forgotten? The last suitors who asked for her hand? Only to get chased off with tails between their legs all by the boss and Sir Abney?"

Oh, Thomas remembered that day all too well. It was during their previous job, restructuring the foundation of a noble's home back in London. And it was a hilarious sight to watch.

"When it's about the young lady, those two are overprotective. You're not only thinking of losing your job, but also having the blade at your neck."

Thomas bit his lip. Maxwell was correct, as much as he hated that. Thomas was one of forty-three employees, deeply grateful to be given the opportunity to serve under the humble contractor for more than five years. To do the unthinkable after everything he has done for his employees would be a horrible deed. And Sir Abney was another matter. A soldier and knight in one, it would be pure madness to go up against such a man of status.

However, fear could be top off by something much powerful. And he'd gather all the courage in the world to achieve it rather than flee it.

He glared eye to eye at his senior. "It's not stopping me from giving this to her. It'll cheer her up for sure. It has to." Thomas went back to the pulling, letting a few seconds of silence hang between them. "Miss Grandville...she's been sad lately. And it hurts me to see her that way."

"She's probably homesick. We've only been in this country for a couple of months now."

"Well, we'll see. She'll be smiling again once she gets my gift. Just as bright as the sun. I know she'll love it. I just know it."

Maxwell took in a deeper, slower puff but there had been a small glimpse of a smile. Youngsters these days, they don't know when to quit until it's too late.

He would not babysit the lad but for now, the senior worker silently wished him the best of luck. "Do whatever you want, boy but just be careful."

Maxwell ignored the surprised glance. Thomas had probably expected him to keep nagging at him for a hopeless dream. Then again, half of the reason was that he was just too tired to continue debating further into the late hour.

"I will. Don't worry." Thomas smiled.

A thud signalled Thomas to stop. They had reached their destination; not yet the surface but it was still one of the higher levels. Maxwell took one last smoke before banging his pipe on the edge of the box to empty it of its burnt content, opening the half-door with soles touching wooden floor. Thomas followed after, tying the rope securely.

Then he heard something.

"Did you hear that?" Thomas asked. The two men glanced to the direction of the source.

Above.

There it was again. This time as many as possible. Nothing of a rhythm but a series of pops and cracks, too faint to know what the sound really was.

However, for some reason, they left a grim feeling in Thomas' gut.

"What do you supposed that was, Maxwell?" Thomas asked, looking at his senior.

Maxwell didn't answer, his back to him. He was stiff, eyes fixated on something like a Greek myth he once heard. Worriedly, Thomas gazed over the middle-aged worker's shoulder to see whatever Maxwell saw.

It was hard at first because whatever it was hid in the shadows, standing in the way of their only passage from the ascending room. Thomas was forced to narrow his eyes just to make sense of it as his hand felt for a nearby lantern. He cast it up, the light creeping forward into the darkness.

Was it another labourer? Odd, the rest of the men should have been upstairs. Only Thomas and Maxwell were on check duty.

His mouth opened but Thomas held back his hello the moment he heard it. Ghastly rasping and wheezing sounds, echoing out from the passageway. Chains rumbling, dragging across the concrete floor. The sounds drew nearer to the men, making the very hair on the back of Thomas' neck stand.

His eyes shot wide once the stranger sluggishly half-stepped into the light.

Horrified. That was what both he and Maxwell were. Words in any level of volume just failed to leave their lips at the sheer sight. 'Monster' wasn't the right term to call it.

Whoever, whatever it was, it was man stripped down to their birthday suit. But that wasn't the most horrid thing to see. He was nearly a skeleton, the skin merely a stretched wrap around bone – some areas peeling off to reveal flesh and a rotten stench. Deep long knife marks crossed over his chest, the blood dried up and slightly healed. Thick chains snaked around his arm and legs, and – was that a wheel collared around his neck? These contraptions restricted him from having complete mobility, his pace slow and clumsy like a bound animal mad for survival.

"What..." Thomas couldn't believe just how shaky his voice sounded. "...is that thing?"

Maybe the mutilated man hadn't heard them. Soft cursing of what seemed to be French was all he could hear from him, besides the beastly hoarseness.

The lad's French was a rusty but he could make out the translation.

Something about...finding a woman?

"M-Maxwell?"

He was pleading. This had to be some sick joke, a custom this country had. Because he had never seen anything like this back home. Nothing like this.

Maxwell grounded his teeth. "Oi, whoever you are, bugger off."

Where the man's eyes once were, black hollow pits seemingly glared at them as if knowing their presence was there.

"Qui êtes -vous? Vous n'êtes pas elle!"

Frozen on the spot, he helplessly watched Maxwell grab hold a hammer from a stack of supplies not too far from reach. Maxwell gripped it tight, his weapon.

"I said get back."

"Ce con qui vous a amené ici?" The mutilated man was growing angry, his heavy-weighted arm reaching out to grab Maxwell.

"Get back, I said!"

_BAM!_

"Arrrggghhhh!" the blood-soaked, chained man roared, clutching his bleeding temple and then lunging at them. "Je vais vous tuer!"

Thomas knew what that meant.

He was going to kill them.

"Run, Thomas!"

Terror charged their legs to move on their own. The two men wheeled round to their only escape, the small ascending room behind them. Thomas quickly snatched the rope and leapt into the wooden box with Maxwell.

"Hurry! Hurry!"

Thomas hurriedly wound the rope inch by inch. He could hear the mutilated man like a rabid animal, stopping at the ledge before he would fall off. The deranged monster bellowed that he couldn't wrap his bony fingers around their necks that he swung his chain-covered arm about angrily.

_CRACUK!_

The rope suddenly snaked out of Thomas' hands, taking a life of its own. The world around him seemed to go upwards swiftly as the air swished around them.

"Bloody-! He broke the hoist!"

The ascending room was falling. Uncontrollably. Swinging like a pendulum in a grandfather clock. Thomas gripped the side for dear life as he felt the whole dark world sway into the walls of the lower basement floors.

He braced for the impact.

_THU-CRACCK!  
_

Stones crumpled inwards by the ascending room, a cavity into the underground foundation. Thomas wasn't sure what happened next but as far he knew once his vision steadied, he was already out of the wooden box.

Nothing seemed broken inside of him as he slowly stood up. He felt wet on the shoulder and knees but the pain was sober.

"Maxwell? Maxwell!"

Thomas limped to Maxwell, finding the older labourer half buried under the broken stone bricks. His leg was crushed under the smashed ascending room, heavily haemorrhaging.

"Hang on, Maxwell!" Without thinking, Thomas levelled the wrecked box up with his hands.

"Gaaaaargh!" Maxwell hissed and immediately, Thomas stopped.

"I'm sorry!"

"No good. Me leg's pinned down... Gaaaah... Y-You'll need to get help."

"I can't just leave you here. Not with that...monster running around."

"Just go. I'll be fine, lad."

Thomas was reluctant. "L-Let me stop the bleeding. Then I'll-"

"The more time you waste, the more likely I'll be dead soon. Just go." Maxwell seized a piece of cloth that Thomas was about to reach for and held it down on his wound. "Now."

"A-Alright. I'll be right back, Maxwell." Thomas examined his surroundings first. They were somewhere on the lowest floor, probably at the north-east side. The other ascending room should be the opposite, centred in the foundation. His other option would be the stairs but that would take longer.

Thomas rushed down the hall, his only sounds being Maxwell's grunts of pains slowly deafening the farther he went.

Until another sound stopped him, making him turn back.

He had turned around a corner, no longer seeing poor Maxwell. The groans slowly changed to panic at the sound of clanking footsteps.

"W-What manner of-" was what he heard Maxwell say. Then came the terrified screams, as if someone or something was dreadfully approaching him.

Thomas took two steps forward. If that horrible man was back, he couldn't leave Maxwell all alone.

The screams then turned into a desperate order.

"RUN! RUN, THOMAS! RUN-ARGGGGGHHHH! ! ! AHHHHHHH! ! **AAAAHHHHHHH! ! !**"

The sound of meat ripping and slicing danced along with the bloodcurdling wails. It was left to Thomas' frightened imagination to wonder what was happening to his senior as it went on until finally, the screams died.

He was petrified. His body shook terribly as he swallowed hard. He had an urge to call Maxwell, hoping that maybe whatever it was halted and was going away. That Maxwell was barely alive. All that sounded hopeless to the other half of his self.

The only thing that answered his silent prayer was the clanging metallic footsteps.

It was coming for him.

He didn't take the chance to see what it was, its shadow lurking around the corner. He bolted down the hall, eyes front.

A haunting cry echoed behind him, sounding like it was obstructed through some metal tube. More disturbing than the chained man's howls.

_Clank! Clank! Clank!_

It was now running up to him. Chasing him.

At the end of the hall, Thomas spotted a door. The prison lobby!

Thomas threw open the door and slammed it shut, the heavy latch down. A crashing bang shook the door, making him jump away like it was demonic.

It would not hold for long. He had to escape!

He rushed to the second ascending room but cursed to find that it had been hurled back up. Who pulled it?

_Bam! Bam! BAM!_

No time to find the answer. That monster had broken through!

He scampered to a spiralling staircase and darted up. In his panic, he slipped a step and dropped his lantern.

_Crack!_

The light dimmed out. Another husky wail roared again.

The lantern was useless, no need to pick it up! He yelled in his mind as Thomas continued upwards. Blessed hope was in his heart once he saw the upstairs door.

He swung it hard. This was a door made of metal and wood, too thick to saw through. For good measure, Thomas spotted a stack of supplies from a repair job, movable on wheels. Quickly and with all his might, he pushed the supplies over the door.

There, he thought, pacing away from the door. That will keep him in.

A hot breath gushed down his back, alongside with a hollowed moan.

It was all a blur when he turned; his first thought being that it was a living, walking armour of a knight behind him. Before he could scream, a flash of a blade replacing where the right arm was weaved at the corner of his eyes and the world turned black.

He thought that was it. That was the end of him.

Only pain surged throughout his body, worse than before. And the sound of something dragging could be heard.

Thomas weakly opened his eyes, terrified still that the thing would still be there.

He was on the ground. His worker clothes were drenched in blood. The floor before him had two wide red lines, painted from his legs. Some hand had clutched him by the collar.

_He_ was the one being dragged.

No...someone save me...

I don't want to die...

"Well, well, what have we here? Beinvenue, Monsieur Thomas."

A woman's voice spoke to him from somewhere and yet nowhere. Oddly, it too sounded like traveling through tubes. From above.

Wasn't that...the client?

"Such a nasty wound. I do hope you live long enough. The preparations aren't even finished yet for the special day tomorrow."

Preparations? For what? What had she done? Why? There was nothing special tomorrow...

Except...

No.

What does she plan to do to Miss Grandville?

"Yes, a special day indeed. It will be a lovely 'coming of age' for the petite loir," the voice hummed with a laugh.

That...cunt...if she dare harm her...

"Oh, are you worried about her? Don't be, Monsieur Thomas. You are a special guest to this celebration after all. But I need you to be silent. Just for a bit. Wouldn't want you to spoil the surprise for the young mademoiselle."

Why was the client doing this?

Thomas had never felt so scared in his life and this time, it wasn't fearing for himself but for another. And sadly, his body wouldn't listen to him, to leap and locate Miss Grandville.

So all he could was pray.

"It would be best for you to save your energy until then. Bonne nuit, Monsieur Thomas."

Please...someone out there...don't let her have her way.

Someone hear him. Please.

If he had the strength, he'd gladly protect her. But now he couldn't as he was falling into darkness again.

Someone, please, save her.

Those were the last words he remembered, begging in his mind as eyes shut.

And the world was black once more.

* * *

Vickie: Hello, hello, this is my first Amnesia fanfic.

I'll admit one thing though, this idea story I'm about to write...I actually had written this as a game design document. Basically, the whole thing was a game idea I had. And I had constructed something with mechanics and stuff. Truthfully, I had imagined this turning into a sequel game to Justine buuuut I'm only just one person and I think some of the gameplay ideas I had may not be supported in the Amnesia engine. :P So I decided to write the story instead.

If this was a game for you guys to play, Thomas would register as the false protagonist you see in games anyway. And with three endings (which I've already thought of what they are and how do you gain either one like those in Amnesia: the Dark Descent). Buuuut for now, I'll be writing just one ending.

Anyway, this story is following to the aftermaths of Amnesia: Justine and from the ending where all three men were saved (to an extent, you damn bitch, Justine). This also...kinda plays around Portal in story wise (no Portal Gun) and similar to Amnesia: the Dark Descent's story direction. I'll also be researching on what fans have thought up on theories surrounding this game as helpers because there are still lots of work for me to go over. However, I do intend to make this a different story, I guess with plot twists you may never expect. Including new ideas.

There are some decisions I've not finished yet as this is also a crossover (in sense) between Justine and Dark Descent. That means some of Alexander's research may get involved. Not alot but some. Also inspired by the custom story, The Machine (ah, I love LPs like Markiplier, Pewdiepie, Cry, etc, etc to give me inspiration). I may ask your opinions of which direction I should avoid or not for the purpose of writing but if revolving around a character, I'd like it if you don't attack me for that. I'll guarantee you one thing: character deaths are OUT buuut character torture is another matter. No future spoilers from my idea will be given.

Two things before I wrap this up: 1) I need help on deciding an age. If you guys read, there is someone who has a coming of age birthday. I've not chosen what age (18 or 21) because I'm torn between the two for reasons. 18 would be realistic but maybe too young in comparison to the other characters while 21 is just right in comparison but may not be realistic. If you guys could greatly help me before I write the next chapter, write in the comments which age is better for this coming of age. It's not really a major plot device but it's something for me to build for one of my OCs you'll be seeing.

2) This story was first inspired by Pewdiepie's outro score (YES THAT ONE XD) and that the fact that Justine had guests coming over got me curious. Who are those guests? And are they her next victims? So much thinking made me come up with this story because I was so goddamn curious about those guests! And what will unearth from this, something much bigger than Justine's cabinet.

And what her motive is? Well, we'll have to find out, won't we?

Without further ado, I hope you'll enjoy this and be eager for what's next. Please r'n'r if you like and give feedback. :)

PS. My french here may not be correct. I need to go over with my dad (he's French) to see what are my mistakes. :/ Hence no translation until I fix it.


	2. Chapter One: The Strange Cell

**Chapter One: The Strange Cell**

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_Disclaimer: I owe nothing of Amnesia. But I owe the new characters you're gonna read._

* * *

The black realm was engulfed by light peering behind rows of red curtains. It drew her out of a daze, her mind barely registering. It wasn't odd that she felt at ease at being where she stood: the backstage of some theatre – spying the many props and equipment around her.

However, strangely enough, she was all alone. No prop handlers, no actors, no musicians.

Before she had a chance to question, even holler out to maybe a bypasser from somewhere, the clapping of hands applauded ferociously as the huge curtains pulled apart. At first, the stage lights blinded her but she forced herself to adjust her eyes properly.

The audience before her was shrouded in the darkness but she could make out the outlines. Three men at the second row and a few strangers somewhere behind, scattered like dots. Their expressions were completely melded into the dark, making her wonder if they were either eager or impatient to hear her perform.

Perform what?

She tightened her grip with slight nervousness and it was only then did she feel something in her hands. She brought them up to her eye level, seeing a swan-billed bow in her left and a well-maintained, red-brown varnished violin in another.

Right...she was a musician. A prodigy.

Ex-prodigy, actually. But did that matter?

It wasn't a full house. If it had been, she'd surely flee. Her body sometimes had trouble listening to her mind in front of a large audience. She would welcome solitude with open arms to spend her time practising her music.

It calmed her soul. It invigorated her passion. It shattered her fear. It empowered her courage. The immediate moment the notes danced from every precise swing of the bow on the strings to her sensitive ears, her worries and suffocation were washed away and the thousands of people in their seats before her would never exist in her sphere of security.

For now, there were only a few so that was good.

She rested her chin on the chin seat and gently raised her bow to the violin, ready to play...

Wait...

Why couldn't she remember any of her songs?

She lowered her bow once she realized another piece of information lost from her mind. It instantly terrified her to the core when she asked one question to herself.

'_What's my name?'_

Her mind was blank.

Why was it a blank?

She didn't know...

_Crrreeaaack!_

She shot her glance up. The roof of the stage seemed to break apart, the cracks forming out like huge demonic hands wishing to take hold of her. They darted down the sides and slithered across the floor, wood rupturing like stone.

No.

Stop.

This cannot be happening.

The fractures split on and on. She fearfully stepped away but they were swift to move under her feet. She halted, fearing that if she were to budge, the floor would secede like glass.

It was hopeless, however, regardless of what she did.

_CRACK!_

Then she fell.

Down...

...down...

...down into the dark abyss below with everything around her collapsing with a thunderous earthbound noise.

To where? The ground? There was nothing. So when would it end?

All she knew was that she was falling.

She instantly opened her eyes.

Heavily gasping with a thumping heart, she stared up to what seemed like the dirty ripped canopy of a bed.

Eventually, the prickling terror was replaced by the heavy fog in her mind, luggage from her dream.

She struggled to clear it away, feeling herself terribly sluggish, as if she was awakening after a long slumber. Tired to even lose control, she slowly sat up and rolled to the side. Feet touched polished wooden planks, no cracking like in her dream. However, that was the least of her worries. She didn't care where she was at the moment.

She rattled her mind to make sense. To search deep within the belly of her memories for a name. Anything.

And yet, it was difficult. Something dark seemed to obscure her recollection.

It was on the tip of her tongue. One word that meant something her...beginning with an E.

"Come now," she pleaded to herself. "You have to remember... My name..."

She sunk her head into her hands. Struggling. She could not give up. It was the most important thing for a person. Not remembering a name was...surely maddening, let alone anything else.

"My name... It's right there."

Flashes slowly tore through the fog. A voice spoke, her heart remembering the owner but her mind couldn't piece who that was.

"My name... My name is..."

The voice whispered her name.

"Evelina."

She had stood up from the bed with a bolt. A smile stretched softly across her rosy cheeks.

That was her name.

"I'm Evelina. I am a musician from Bayswater, London. I enjoy playing the violin, of course. I like sweet delights and mystery novels. But most of all, I..."

She stopped, her smile fading. There were still a lot more holes in her head, her reminiscence symbolizing Swiss cheese.

She heaved a deep sigh, calming herself down. One step at a time. At least she knew she could recall some details, she thought to herself. So for now, remembering the name was a success.

She then examined her surroundings. Maybe the room she was in could shine some answers.

It was like any bedroom, stylized for a woman. Glorious furnishings were placed neatly and orderly in such a small space. But sadly, nothing immediately sparked any familiarity for her. It was just a stranger to her.

A second look made her realize something was wrong.

The only greeting was the light of the candlesticks, illuminated the room. That was because no light was dazing out the glass window. Not the sun rays, not even the moonlight. She approached it, noting that outside was earth. Nothing but earth.

As if someone outrageously buried the room under feet of soil.

Another outrageous sight was the ceiling, with metal tubes anchored in and out of the room. In one corner, one of the pipes was funnelled out of a cone, too high up for her to even reach.

From the window to the ceiling and down, she cast her sight to the door. It was no highly-crafted door with a decorative handle. It was a thick, grimy door with a small barred window. Alarmed, she rushed up, hands around the bar to see a lit stone hallway outside. She gave the stilted handle several tugs. It became more disturbing once she noticed there was not even a keyhole, only some odd mechanism at where the opening was, double reinforcing the door tight.

This fancy bedroom was a deceit.

It was a garbed up cell.

"Hello?" she cried out through the window. "Can anyone hear me?"

Nothing.

Not even the squeaks of a lone rat.

She tried to open by the handle. Locked. She gave a shove at the door. Pointless, for a small woman like her to budge it open.

Why was she even here?

"Bonjour, Evelina."

Evelina wheeled around, with a scared skip. The disembodied voice sounded as if it was right behind her.

"How are you, ma petite loir? Had a pleasant sleep?"

She glanced up to the cone. The woman's voice vibrated out of it as loud as sounding like she was in the room with her.

It also struck at her, sounding rather familiar. Rather... unpromising. She cautiously neared the speaking tube. Was this person the one who locked her in the strange prison cell?

"Who are you?" Evelina asked.

"Hm," the voice droned with amusement. "You don't remember me, dear Evelina? Perhaps I've used too much lithium in the mixture." A strange soft laughter echoed. "This _will_ be very interesting."

Evelina bit her lips. A part of her was terrified, begging the voice to be quiet and leave her alone. She stilled it with as much courage as she could gather. "Are you the one who put me here?"

"Would it matter who put you there? The only thing that is important is why you are here," the voice riddled. "I bid you welcome to my expanded cabinet of perturbation. It is my study of the human psyche. I had previously used it on myself in my last edition... And now it is your time."

Evelina furrowed her eyebrows. "What?"

"Ma petite loir, this is a test of your psyche. My birthday present to you. It is up to you to figure out what elements are important to you and you alone. Whether you pass or not is irrelevant."

So basically, she was a mouse thrown in a maze. Was this person insane? "What do you want from me?" she demanded.

"Ah, ah, ah. It will not serve you any purpose to ask me for the answers, Evelina. It would just be too easy. This test will start once I open your cell door and from here on, a set of recordings and documents will chaperone you through the floors ahead," the voice said. "All I can do is give you these words, mon amie. They can all be saved, there is always a way."

"Who can be saved?" Evelina repeated.

Silence. She could faintly hear the sounds of soft laughter and footsteps walking away.

"Wait! Come back! Tell me! Who are you! ? Answer me!"

Laughter again. The person was mocking her!

"You'll know soon enough, ma petite loir. I'll be waiting at the end of this study."

_Click!_

Evelina wheeled round, seeing the small cogs in the odd mechanism turn. The prison door gapped open with a loud clank.

"Salut, ma petite loir."

And that was the end of the conversation, the voice gone from the other end.

Evelina tightened her fists and frowned, unsure of what to do. She nervously reached out and pushed the door wider.

Freedom but she was wary. Even salvation can be a lie.

...Sod it! Might as well take the chance. She wasn't going to just doss around here forever.

Evelina flung the prison door open and scurried down the hall.

_Cack!_

"Ahh!" she cried as she felt her ankle twist. Hands grazed against tiny rough, gritty teeth but she pushed forth, ignoring the burning sensation and the odd walking with a higher leg. Her panic escalated at sight of another prison door.

She gritted her teeth, foolishly banging her scraped hands on the door with the pain as repeated punishment. Registering the prickling feeling was second priority as she firstly wondered if that voice was just playing her.

Evelina settled down the emotional conflict inside of her. This wasn't the way of a trimmed, well-mannered woman but then again, chivalry would be immediately thrown out in dark times.

Something then perked her attention. She cast her eyes up, noting a strange line of ropes, cogs and other small instruments together hidden in the corner of the ceiling. The end was to the prison's modified lock. The start went back into her 'guest room'.

Peculiar. Doors that needed no key, gears behind stone bricks and strange apparatus that stood out in such an environment?

Evelina thought carefully. Her first door, no one opened it with any tools. It simply just opened by itself. Were the doors controlled remotely and by the person's command?

A baffling, crazy idea. But it wasn't impossible. The craziest possibilities were meant to break through scepticism. If that was the case, then the second door was also distantly manipulated. And the key in its keyhole was in her room.

She trailed after the line, seeing it weaved pass the cabinet, the bed, the bookshelf and down to one piece of furniture inside.

She glared at it suspiciously as it now caught her eye... Above the dressing table was supposed to be a mirror but the glass was taken away, leaving behind just an empty frame. She recalled that minutes ago but like a ghost, something eerily slipped into the frame.

It was a painting, of a young woman who hasn't gone passed adulthood but held the maturity stiff in the portrait. Sadly, her wavy dark auburn hair didn't have the same opinion, never surrendering to the typical hairstyle of curls, buns and rolls. In her arms cradled a violin, the exact one she had held in her dream. To any speculator, they'd observe her as a beautiful performer with beaming eyes but if they truly knew, there was no such gleeful emotion behind those soft green orbs.

It was discomfort. An overwhelming fearful hand on her heart.

To the painter? No, someone else. Someone standing behind the French connoisseur. The smog in her skull obscured that person's identity but for certain, the lavish rogue-painted lips curled into a lenient grin.

Like a cat prying steadily on her prey.

Evelina knew one thing however. The young woman in the picture was herself.

She wasn't flattered to see this painting again. In fact, she was more insulted. It was teasing her, just as the voice in the speaking tube was.

The more her frustration vented, the more her vision grew hazy and her mind fogged once more. It was as if a new, yet somehow also old, feeling was slowly suffocating her from the inside. She had to immediately steady herself, hands on the dresser.

No, now wasn't the time for a panic attack. This wasn't the stage. She was in grave danger, for goodness' sake.

She swallowed. Straightened herself up. She held back her anger – ladylike. Once the internal storm had settled, she glanced back up to the painting, only to be aware that the line ended at the painting. With steady light fingers, she traced them across the frame.

The wall seemed to secure the painting firmly tight. She couldn't even pull it right off its nail. Except...

_Fhinng!_

The grinding of stone and metal applauded out the moment the lady turned the painting forty degrees left. But of course, a riddle behind walls. Like those she had read in her mystery novels.

She wheeled around just in time to a transformation take place in her jail. To the lay man, it would have been the thought of a ghost rummaging through the room. A locked redwood dresser next to the bed flipped open to reveal a lantern and a handful of tinkerboxes prepared while the wardrobe's doors creaked eerily; a satchel bag hanging up a hook.

_Click! _peeped from down the hall, followed the muffled howling of the prison door's swing.

She took a deep breath in. Whatever was beyond this point was uncharted territory. What awaited after that door, only God knew and she didn't.

She pinched herself.

First one, a little squeeze. The second, harder. And they both hurt.

This was definitely no dream, continued from her last. This was real and there was nothing for her to support her denial.

Her heart was pounding. That was real. Her mind was half-empty. That was real. And her being trapped in what seemed to be an underground bedroom cell? Yes, it was real too. She had to do something and there was only one choice. She had no other choice to defy it.

"_Remember this, Evelina,"_ a husky yet kind voice, the beholder she too couldn't remember, reminded her. _"Fear is something we cannot escape. But never let it blind you. And those monsters under your bed will not harm you, my dear."_

An eccentric philosophy to be remembering, but it settled down her tortured soul.

"Fine," Evelina whispered. "If it's a test you want, then I'll play your little game."

It would be draft to leave with nothing. An explorer shipwrecked would be naked without any tools of the trade. For all she knew, that woman at the other end might just be expecting that; Evelina waltzing out without anything and to clumsily fall into whatever awaited her.

She first searched what she had on herself, which were a morning dress, a cuffed lace blouse and now-broken lovely embroidered pumps, both horribly filthy. How, she couldn't recall.

Oh, and a corset.

No wonder she was having difficulty in her lungs. The blasted thing... She could never understand why women must be forced into such suffocating tubes.

Now wasn't the time to complain, however. Or even the time to impishly take it off.

She turned her attention back to the satchel bag and lantern. She immediately darted to the sack but halted before her fingers brushed the leather.

The feel and the look were both familiar to her skin and eyes. Arresting it, she examined two brown letters burned into the material.

"...J.G.," she whispered the initials and like a flash, Evelina recalled.

The ink-stained, wood-scented sack, it carried many memories before it was given to her from someone dear.

She bit her lips anxiously.

"Father."

Her eyes darted nervously. Yes, she could never forget about her father, her beloved parent. Most of her childhood was coming back to her mind, except for recent events. Those were sadly still obscured.

But a fearful thought came too.

Where was he?

Could he be in a similar predicament like she was in?

Locked away somewhere by that terrible voice, having no choice but to succumb to that woman's riddling commands like a pet?

Maybe not. He could be looking for her right now, worried sick that his daughter was missing.

She prayed deeply for that possibility.

Evelina then opened the satchel bag at the immediate feeling of something inside. Inside was a book, its leather bound looking acquainted to her eyes.

Her journal.

It was all too good to be true.

She instantly unfastened the skin belt and flipped the book open.

The first many written leaves inside were gone.

"But of course." She sighed. She supposed it would've been too easy to recall all her memories with a full journal. She wouldn't crossed it off that the voice had something to do with the pages.

However, that meant the pages could be somewhere. Perhaps she could look out for them, any paper to dispel the black fog in her head and fill in the holes for her. That would be her secondary objective. Her primary; her father.

She skimmed through the remaining pages, all of them blank. They could benefit her to jot down notes for later so it was not a complete loss.

Evelina slipped the book back into the satchel and roped the bag over her shoulder. She then seized the lantern, catching a strong putrid aroma of kerosene from it.

She checked. Half-filled. Hopefully, enough until she could find more kerosene.

The final preparation was her footing. The heel of her pump was broken off; the other an annoyance. She gave it a quiver before breaking it off. And sighed with relief, for she was comfortable now.

There was nothing else eye-catching in the room for usefulness, other than two more tinderboxes she dug out from another dresser. Evelina left the room once her interest was satisfied. She warily walked down the short hall, seeing the thin gap of the second prison door. It took much of her strength to pull the thick door further.

She took a slow deep breath, the smell of dirt and dust whiffing into her nose. It barely did anything to calm the nerves.

But she had no choice.

And so stepped out the poor, oblivious and unfortunate young lady, entering into an unknown and dark world.

* * *

Vickie: Looks like a brand new adventure for us Amnesia lovers, eh?

So here is our main protagonist: Evelina. There's really more about this young eighteen-year old (Thanks to my friend, JC, for clearing up what age is the coming of age) British woman you'll learn in the later chapter. And yes, we need Amnesia cuz, hey, IT'S AMNESIA! Would kinda defeat the purpose.

One thing is she won't be a Daniel duplicate. She and Daniel are what I'd say two totally different world (and he was insane to begin with). But I do hope she will grow on ya and she is a good character as the story progresses.

Anyhow, hope the first chapter is up to your taste (even if this is just starting). Enjoy, please review (feedback makes me happy and helps me improve) and look forward to the next chap! :D

PS. Yes, I also noticed this is sounding like an Amnesia version of Alice in Wonderland when I was writing this. XD


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